From Silent Dreams We Never Wake
by pumpkinborg
Summary: When Esme Cullen asks for help finding her 17 year old son Edward it is just a matter of chance that she asks Isabella Swan, the one person that could truly save him. But will he bring both of them down? Violence, sex, drugs, you know the drill.
1. Chapter 1

My shift was almost over. In little over half an hour I would be at home, having some dinner and watching re-runs of Jerry Springer. I had spent the last year volunteering at a missing persons centre. People would come in and ask for help with finding their missing sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, moms and dads. I was seventeen, and a student at Forks High School in the Olympic Peninsula of Washington State.

I had just tidied my area, shut down my computer, rubbed out my desk doodles and retracted my pen when my boss Ellen lowered herself onto my desk. The desks weren't the best on the market, but we ignored the subsequent squeak like troopers. 'Bella? When does your shift end again?' I looked at my watch. 'Two minutes ago. No, wait for it, three.' She looked at me. Okay, so I was a little rude, but it was my time of the month and I had cramps like hot pokers.

'Bella I need you to see one more.' I looked at her incredulously – I had an appointment with Ben and Jerry and their famous cookie dough recipe. She took in my expression and continued, 'Please. The queue is backed up 'round the waiting room and there are people getting hysterical.' I nodded passively. The main message being _What's in it for me?_ She looked a bit defeated. 'I'll buy jam doughnuts for the next staff meeting. Please?' Ok. The mention of sugar was enough for me. 'Fine, I'll do it. But only one.' She smiled, relieved. 'I will fetch her. And be nice. Okay?' The centre relied upon donations. If a client was wealthy, and a happy conclusion were to be reached, then donation chances were good. The 'be nice' was a sign of some serious money coming in to play, and that was positive. Recources for finding people did not come cheap.

I had just enough time to pull out my forms and pad of paper and get my out of date computer to the login screen when my new client walked in. She was around forty years old. She had the usual characteristics of one of our clients – she looked tired, with large bags under her light brown eyes and she was washed out. Her caramel coloured hair hung limp around her face. But her clothing hinted at designer origins and her outfit was well put together. As she entered she handed me a piece of paper, the preliminary sheet from the front desk.

Her name was Esme Cullen. She was looking for her son Edward Masen, her youngest, from her first marriage. He was seventeen and had been missing for just under three months. The form also contained her details such as telephone numbers.

'Mrs Cullen-' I needed to ask her some more basic questions. 'Call me Esme please.' She had a slight accent. Too early to tell what it was though. 'Ok, Esme. Could you tell me about the circumstances of your son's dissapearance?'

'I had best start from the beginning.' She took a deep breath and started her story. 'When Edward was young we lived what had just become Belarus.' That explained the accent. 'My husband was not a good man. He was violent and angry. When Edward was two years old I left him and his brother Emmett with my sister and went to America to make a new life. The plan was to bring the children over when I had the money. My sister sent me letters every little while to tell me how my boys were doing. I was making money, not much, but enough that I would soon be able to see my children again. But then there were no more letters. I waited a while. And I sent some letters of my own. But there was no answer. When I called there was no answer, and when I wrote... But I could not do anything about it. But then I met my husband Carlisle. He had money. He took me back to pick up my sons. But their father was keeping them in my sister's house. He beat them badly. By this point Emmett was seven and Edward was five. When we got there the three of them were locked in the basement. Edward was unconsious, and Emmett was nursing a broken arm.' She seemed to drift off. She was crying now, tears streaming down her face. Then she remembered herself. 'It took a long time for any of us to come to face what had happened. But Edward, he did not. He – what is it you say – 'acted out'. He became violent and he started taking cannabis, cocaine, heroin. We did what we could but he would not stop. I believe he only takes the heroin now. He has been in a clinic, but it did not help. And then we caught him in the house. We could not let him do as he liked, there were other children there who we could not allow to see this. So he left. He packed a bag and he left.' She was sobbing now. She pulled out a handkerchief. I waited a second for her to compose herself, and then, 'Esme, if you don't mind me asking, what happenned to your first husband?'

'He killed himself, rather than face what he had done.' She had calmed a little now, but she was still grim. No wonder. But I still needed to clear up a few things. 'You say there are ather children in your house...?' She brightened, 'Yes. There is my elder son Emmett, Carlisle's twins, Rosalie and Jasper, they are seventeen. They are adopted, and Carlisle and I, we have a daughter, Sarah. She is twelve. And there is a girl we foster. Her name is Alice. She is sixteen years old.'

'Are there any problems with the rest of the family?' She shook her head. 'No. Except small ones, with Rosalie. But he is close to Sarah and Emmett, and he and Jasper have no problem. He and Carlisle manage.' During the interview I had been scribbling notes and I now had a set of facts on him. 'Do you have any photographs?' 'Yes, yes, of course.' She handed me the photographs. He was handsome to say the least. Muscular, with piercing green eyes. And there was a labelled one with the rest of the family. 'And one more thing, are there any alternative names he could be under?' She thought hard. 'He could be under his middle name, Anthony. And he could use his step-fathers name, or his father's, Evanson, allthough he would not I am sure. Masen was my name before marriage. He is fond of that.' Ok. Complicated. And yet I was done. 'That should be it Esme. I will get back to you if we find anything.'

And she turned to leave, 'Oh, excuse me. What is your name?' I looked up. 'Bella Swan.'

'Please Bella Swan, find my son.'

***

The drive home was welcome for my thoughts. Life was hard. The last hour, and yes it was an hour over my work time, with Esme had proven it to me. What she and her sons had gone through was awful, and it gave me good perspective on how lucky I was. I lived with my father, Police Chief Swan to the good people of Forks. I had never been abused. The worst that had happened to me was my parent's divorce. I was torn. We were not supposed to accept cases involving drugs or violence. But I felt for her, and she spoke of her son so warmly. I would have to think about this. I arrived home very late, however it was still long before my father, and so I commenced my plan for the evening. How I loved Jerry Springer. But I could not stop the images that filled my mind of Esme and her two small children. They were hard for me to stomach. Ben and Jerry's it was.

I drifted off watching TV, only waking when my father came home from his shift, around eleven. I put some water on to boil for pasta, as I was hungry, and I doubted Charlie had eaten anything healthier than doughnuts since lunch. After he had hung up his gun belt charlie spoke, 'How was your day Bella?' Here was where the deception started. I could not accurately describe what had happened for the last hour without him getting upset, and it seemed to have overshadowed my day. 'Oh, the usual.' Charlie didn't find my lack of elaboration strange. Neither of us were what you would call verbose. After re-reading the best bits of 'Pride and Prejudice' during the game that Charlie insisted we watch, I went upstairs, showered, and fell into a fitfull sleep, dreaming of Esme and her children being rescued from her violent husband.

***

When I woke I was disoriented. During the night I had progressed to memories of living in Phoenix. I could not recognise the purple comforter and curtains. And then it hit me, from the portrait of a wolf on the wall, to the old rocking chair in the corner that I was in my father's house in Forks. I had only been living there about six months, since my mom decided to follow my minor league baseballing step-father around the country. And I had been bundled off to this backwater. About a month after I arrived I realised that if I had to stay around I needed something other than school, Charlie and games to occupy my time, so I volunteered at the charity. After a couple of months I was allowed to interview and now, even occasionally allowed to help find someone. They had needed me, due to staffing shortages. I rolled over and realised I was up a whole hour earlier than usual. I tried my hardest, but sleep wouldn't stick. I read, I took longer than normal in the shower, I ate my breakfast slowly, but in the end I still arrived at school half an hour early. I idled in the car park, keeping my heater on and doing trigonometry on the offchance that it might improve my grade.

I was startled by a knock at my truck window. I looked up to find Jacob Black there. I had a love/hate relationship with Jacob Black. He was the son of my fathers best friend and was a complete jerk. I wound the window down. 'Let me in Bella. It's freezing out here and your transport has sides, and a roof.' I raised my eyebrows. 'Please Bella, I think I got frostbite getting here on the bike.' He pleaded with me. I scooted across on the bench seat of my '53 Chevrolet and Jacob hopped in, breathing into his cupped hands and rubbing them together. 'Ahhh, to feel the warm air again. Whatcha doin' Bella?' He looked across at my books.'Aww heck. You still bother with math? What is this shit?' I looked at him. 'Yes, let's leave it to Jacob the almost drop-out to comment on education. Why not?' 'Someone's being a bit catty today. Time of the month? Not getting any?' Prick. 'Like you are Black? Well not from a human anyway. You probably couldn't get an offer from Leah the dog.' I had spent summers with my father my entire life. And every summer was blighted by Leah Clearwater. I had a hate/hate relationship with her. She was a bitch. I got a knock off Barbie, she got a real one. I got a real one, she decapitated it. Oh, the mental scars. 'She's not that bad anymore.' _Sure._ 'You're telling me she's not a bitch?' I should be so lucky. 'Oh no. Just bigger tits. And on your previous comment, she is offering. And I am _so_ recieving.' He said with a grin. God, I hoped he was joking. 'Out. Get out of my car. You have Leah cooties.' 'Cooties Bella? Are we twelve again?' I beat my fists on his forearm until he was forced out of my car. Well, not forced, he was at least twice my size, but he got the idea. I followed. It was time for class anyway.

First period, seated next to Jessica Stanley. Nice but dim. As _she_ talked, _I_ drifted off into my dream world where incredibly handsome, tanned, muscular man with strong cheekbones was currently residing. I had just walked in on him in the pool, in a tiny pair of speedos, when Mr Varner took it upon himself to interrupt without me even having the luxury of having raised my hand first. And to top it off I got the answer wrong. Damn.

***

The rest of the day had passed considerably more pleasantly than first period, me having had no more run – ins with teachers who felt the need to agitate students. I was on my way to my shift at the charity when Ellen called. It was a slow evening apparently, and she felt it would be waste of my time to come in. She calls me with this golden nugget of information when I am almost there, on the 101 by Lake Crescent. So I thought _why the fuck not?_ I might as well go shopping. So I revved up my engine, hoped that my clutch wouldn't fall off on the drive, and set off on my merry way to the shopping metropolis that was Port Angeles.

And, just my luck, my fucking clutch did fall off. Well at least I thought it was that, but what did I know, I never knew. I'm not a mechanic, never was. But Jacob was. Well, it was time to call in a favor.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. _'Hello, you've reached Jacob Black's phone, please leave your name and number and I might get back to you.' _

Try again. Ring... '_Hello, you've reached...'_

And again... 'What the fuck Bella, why do you keep calling me?' Jake didn't sound particularly alert. 'Because I'm stuck in Port Angeles and my car's broken. And it's starting to rain.' 'Couldn't your dad get you?' I rolled my eyes at thin air. 'He's on a shift, and you know he couldn't fix a car to save his life.' It was true, my dad was no mechanic. 'Look, Bella, I'm a little busy right now-' 'Fuck Jacob! It's cold and wet, and the car won't start. Come and fucking get me.' He let out an exasperated sigh. 'Fine, just stay in the cab and be safe. I'll be there as soon as possible. Try to keep warm.'

***

_Try to keep warm. Try to keep warm. Easy for him to say. And what could be taking this long anyway?_ I was shivering. I could just see the headlines now. _Girl frozen to death on the 101, friend tells of being too late to save her._ Soon I was going to have to take drastic action. There was a coat in the boot. I had tried getting in through the fold – down seats, but what do you know? '53 Chevrolets don't have functioning fold – down seats. At least mine didn't. So the only way to reach it was by going outside, in the now pissing rain, in a temperature of around one degree, and opening the boot. At first I completely refused. I don't do cold. I lived my entire memorable life – up until my removal to Forks – in Arizona, where there is sunshine, and beautiful heat. But as the cold was growing my desperation was growing. I was two minutes away from running to get the coat. And then I was pushed to my limit. The weather forecast proudly proclaimed that this was going to be one of the worst storms that the Olympic Peninsula had ever seen, and it was just going to get colder. Fuck. Shit. And I, Isabella Marie Swan, was out in the middle of it. _Where was Jacob?_ That was it! I got out of the car and ran around to the boot, getting absolutely soaked in the process. After fumbling with the lock for an agonizing minute, I was in, and nothing. No coat. Balls. So I slammed the boot shut and made it as fast as I could to the front drivers side. By the time I sat back I was soaked to the skin and shivering worse than ever, I could not even hold myself still enough to change the radio station. I was slowly succumbing to cold and I hadn't eaten in a while. I was suddenly very tired and my muscles ached from spasms. Darkness was overtaking me. I was slowly drifting away into sleep.

***

'Bella! Bella! Wake up!' A pause. 'Shit! Move! Bella!' My eyelids fluttered, I could see Jacobs face – he looked seriously concerned. He lifted me roughly away from the back of the seat and took my face in his hands. 'Bella wake up. Open your eyes for me.' And I did. 'Good.' I let out a croaky cough. 'How long have I been here?' He was still checking me over with concern, 'Over an hour. Shit, you're freezing.' I took a rattleing breath. 'Yeah-h. I-' I wheezed 'I am.' 'Look, I can't fix your car here, well, not in this weather anyway. Here, put this on.' He took off his jacket and handed it to me. I was far too cold to protest. 'Can you walk?' 'Pr-probably.' Jacob eased me out of the car and onto my own feet. Then he leaned me against the door and reached into my pocket, pulling out my car keys and locking it up. Then he started to move us along, supporting me under the armpits. I could barely walk from muscle cramps in my legs and sides. Jacob managed to get me into his Volkswagen Rabbit without me falling, which was a relief; I was one of the most clumsy people in the world. He pushed me into the passenger seat and then ran around to the drivers side.

'Bella, you feeling any warmer?' I bobbed my head in a yes. He put his hand up to touch my cheek. 'Bella, you're still frozen and, well, you're kind of blue.' Damn. Way to tell it to a girl straight. 'Know any tricks to warm me up?' And Jake stopped with his hand by my face, and looked down. 'Well,' He hesitated. 'I _do_ know _one_.' As he reached the last word he looked up, into my eyes. And then lowered his face toward mine, brushing our lips together. Damn, that was a good idea. I could feel liquid warmth travelling down from my lips to my toes. I put my frozen hands into his hair and he pushed his tongue into my mouth. Hmm he tasted good. _Bella! Stop it! What are you thinking, kissing Jacob in a car? This is going to be awkward tomorrow!_ I pulled away. 'Jake...' Jacob moaned. 'Jake, stop.' He looked up, a bit taken aback, 'What? Why?' Damn. This was going to be was I going to say? _Hey Jake, I'm worried because you're a bit of a joker and my virginity is a serious subject and I want a serious relationship before I lose it, and if something were to go wrong I would have to see you every day for the next year and any time I saw my father after that..._ No. Not good. 'Look, Jake, I really like you, but i'm not sure this is a good idea...' He raised his eyebrow. 'I'm not with Leah really you know.' I shook my head. 'Jake, that's not it. It will just hurt too much if we didn't work.' He nodded. 'Bella, I do understand... but if you ever change your mind...' I smiled, 'You will be the first to know.' Jake seemed to regain his humor a little. 'Well then Bella, let's head home.'

**It is with trepidation that I put this chapter out, as I was going to save it until I had the next one written. However, my happy little showy-offy heart wanted to show you my new idea. Depending on life I am hoping to have a new chapter of this story out every two weeks. And I would quite like some reviews for this one, if you don't mind. I really do need some feedback ladies (and any gents, I salute you). Happy New Year.**


	2. Chapter 2

I sat up, ignoring the pain in my muscles. Jacob had delivered me home late last night, and before my father even got home. That was good; it meant that he wouldn't make a fuss. Charlie had little ability to express his feelings, and when he felt concerned it was beyond awkward. No, let me rephrase that, it was when he _acted_ on his concern that it got awkward. Unfortunately there was a downside to this lack of knowledge in that Charlie did not know how much pain I was in. No knowledge meant I could not walk around with ice packs and deep heat on my legs and arms. I stood up and my legs could barely support me. Today was not going to be an easily forgettable experience.

I had a warm shower, which temporarily made me feel better. Then I put on a blue knit sweater and some black jeans, but I couldn't have cared less. My body was on fire! The last thing I was bothered with was other people's opinions. I was halfway through my breakfast when I realised I didn't have a car. I had told my father that Jake was fixing a broken radio dial for me, and he had offered to take me to school in the cruiser. My worst nightmare. That was the main reason I had wanted the truck in the first place, to avoid the cruiser.

Have you ever turned up somewhere where you have to make a good first impression in a brightly coloured, flourescent police cruiser? It is very similar turning up to a job interview and realising that you're skirt has split and that the embarrasing tattoo on your backside is showing. Not that I have a tattoo on my backside. But you get the point. It is deathly embarrassing. So when I turned up in Forks and saw Jake's old truck for sale it was sold–as–seen.

But coming back to my current predicament, I was carless and sore. Walking was not an option. Who to call... who to call... Jake or Jessica – both had cars. Jake was probably my best friend, but things were currently awkward, and Jessica was a niceish person who talked too much and lived nearby. It would have to be Jake; it would hurt his feelings if I went to someone else for a ride, however awkward it was going to be. I took a deep breath and dialed, 'Hey Jake?' 'Yeah?' he grumbled. 'Could you give me a lift to school?' There was rustling. 'School? What time is it?' Damn. He wasn't awake when I called. 'School starts in half an hour.' 'What? Shit! I'll be right there!' and he rung off. By the time I had washed up and grabbed my bag he was actually there. He must gone like a greased ferret to get there, we still had fifteen minutes. And he was horribly right about the temperature of riding a bike in Forks. Sub–zero. I thought my blood had frozen in my veins. When we got there Jake had to prize me off the bike before we could get to class, so we only arrived just in time. Thank God we did though, because we had a history cover in the form of the principal, who was a moody bastard and a stickler for time keeping, a minute later and we would have been toast.

_Discuss developments in the femenist movement of America in the 1960's and 1970's, with specific reference to the National Organisatgion for Women._ Well, at least this one was reasonably simple, I had completed this course at my last high school so this was really a memory exercise.

The rest of the day passed without incident, except for when a guy, who I seemed to remember was called Mike made a sweet attempt to start a conversation with me. It was sweet, but unfortunately Jake was standing right there, so I was polite, but not encouraging. To be honest I didn't think it would make a difference to Mike – he looked very relieved to have managed to get some words out.

***

By the time Saturday came around Jake had fixed my truck for a minor parts fee. I had decided to postpone my trip to Port Angeles, but on later contemplation I had moved the location of the trip to Seattle. If I was going to risk breaking down again on the side of the road, I wanted it to be a busy road, and I really wanted to go somewhere where there was something resembling a mall. So when Saturday came around I packed a bag, grabbed my purse and made sure there was a blaket in the back seat of my truck. There was no mention of snow in the weather forecast but I was taking no chances.

During the drive I listened to some rather loud metal to cover up the ridiculously loud sound my truck now made when the ignition was turned. As I pointed out before, Jake was my mechanic, and he did it cheap as hell, so some of the finesse was missing. Finesse like a muffler. Oh well. The thing moved and that was what mattered.

I spent the better part of the day going 'round the shops. The first part was spent looking at some beautiful shoes which were completely out of my price range. Light blue velvet with a low heel and an open 'v' from the top to the middle of the foot. They stopped at the ankle. Then I moved on to some that were in my price range, but not nearly so delectable. I sat for nearly an hour trying on sensible shoe after sensible shoe in the thrifty shoe store. It was mind-numbingly boring. Eventually I decided on some knock-off converses. They looked near-enough the real thing, and I really did need them as the top of my current pair was coming away from the sole. Then I took myself back to a nicer store to look at clothes. I really couldn't afford any today: not if I wanted to buy a new book, so I went and tried on the nice ones anyway. And then on to my favourite part, there were only two bookstores that I had found in Seattle. One was a big chainstore, specialising in new releases and the like, whilst the other dealt in second hand books. Between them they catered for most things that I could ask for. I spent a long time in each, debating what to buy. In the end I settled for a slightly battered copy of _Jane Eyre_ and a newish copy of _The Picture of Dorian Gray._ I had read both before, and had owned copies in Phoenix, but they had been left behind in the move and there was no-one left at my old home to send them to me; my mother was in Florida. I was just heading back to my car when I saw it – I saw him. Edward Cullen, a flurry of green eyes and bronze hair dissapearing down an ally. The sensible part of me begged me to get back in my car and go home, calling the police when I got there. But the part of me that had a serious curiosity implored me to follow. In a split second I had made my descision. I followed, keeping my steps light. The ally here was dark, but there was only one way out of it, through a small crack in a door to the right. My heart started to pound so hard in my ears that I could not hear a thing else. My eyes frantically searched for anything in the darkness as I pushed throught the door. It looked like a small warehouse. From the little light there was filtering in through the grimy windows I could see puddles reflected on the floor. The sound was damp, the smell was damp. I wandered through, listening for any sound that wasn't dripping water.

After what felt like hours, but must have been only minutes, I had still heard nothing. But when I was just about to give up there was a shout. 'Who's there?' It gave me a start. Suddenly there was a drawn face with long black hair and dark skin in front of me. Within a fraction of a second he had me by my throat. 'Why are you here?' His voice was loud and rough. My throat had closed up. The only noise I could make was a shaking, gasping breath. He shook me. I had tears streaming down my face. 'Please- ' The man looked at me with distaste, but slackened his hold on my throat. 'I need to see Edwar-' His grip tightened again, 'Maybe he doesn't want to see you.'

'Paul!' I looked up to see Edward Masen coming into the light, glaring angrily. 'Let her go.' Paul looked up at him. From where I could see his gaze was furious. 'You know her? Did you tell her to come here?' He squeezed a little tighter, I couldn't breathe again. Edward replied quietly, 'No. I don't know her. Let her go so I can find out why she's here.' Paul dropped me. A stinging pain shot through my skull. As I had fallen I had hit my head on the concrete floor. Paul seemed unfazed, 'She's looking for you.' 'What?' Edward Masen came over to me, pulling me up by my jacket. He looked as if he were about to shout at me, but then his expression abruptly changed. 'Shit Paul, she's bleeding. Hey, look at me.' I tried to focus on him, but my vision was blurred. I felt myself being lifted up and then I closed my eyes, trying to supress the nausea that was taking me over. I had no idea where I was going, but surprisingly I felt safe in Edward Masen's arms. Well safer than in Paul's anyway.

**Ok. This chapter is a little short, but this felt like the natural place to end it. Please tell me your thoughts. -pumpkinborg**


	3. Chapter 3

I awoke to the sound of rustling and my head being lifted. When it was put down again it had a much softer landing. It felt like it had been put on a cat – the texture was all furry. There were noises, voices, not fully formed into the shape of words. My eyelids felt heavy as I opened them, taking in the dark around me as my eyes not yet adjusted to the light. The noises in the room were becoming clearer, but everything was tinny. 'Edward. She's awake. She can probably hear us now.' The voice sounded female, nothing like the violent grating of Paul's voice. 'Okay, leave her to me.' I heard heavy footsteps approaching me, and then I felt a hand on my face. 'Hey, I. Swan. Time to get up.' It sounded like Edward Masen's voice. There were hands on my shoulders pulling me up. My head felt too heavy for my neck. 'Hey!' The arms shook me lightly, then propped me up against something. I felt hands holding my head in place. 'Wake up already. I don't want to have to hide your body.' His statement shocked me enough that I pushed my eyes open, properly this time. After blinking a few times I spoke, 'You're joking right?' Then something hit me, 'Wait! How did you know my name?' He looked at me like I was an idiot, 'Driving license, credit cards, library card... Need I say more?' He reached into his pocket, pulling out my wallet. Then he put it back in his pocket, pulled an oil drum toward me and sat on it, his expression serious.

'Why were you looking for me?' He was uncomfortably close as he leaned forward, his face inches from mine with me backed against a wall. From this distance I could see that he was sweating, and shivering slightly, and he had grey bags under his eyes. They stood out a lot against his pale skin. I looked down, trying not to meet his dark green eyes. They were... well, they were enthralling. When I looked into them he held my attention. He asked again, 'Why?' He lifted my chin so I was forced to look at him. 'Your mother...' He had removed his hand from my face and was already a few meters away before I could even turn my head. His voice became demanding now, 'Is she okay?' 'Worried.' He snorted and then his face twisted into a sneer, 'She sent a child to find me? I really don't think so.' Shit. He thought I was lying. 'I'm not a child. I'm actually older than you.' He looked at me. 'How did you find me?' He said it bluntly. 'It was an accident. I was shopping and I saw you.' He snorted, 'You really expect me to believe that you were asked to help, and with no active participation on your part, you found me?' I nodded. Suddenly he was in my face again. 'Fine. You tell anyone where I am and Paul will find you.' I'm pretty sure the look on my face showed my confusion. 'I'm only letting you go. Get out.'

I tried to stand up but my only reward was a shooting pain through my skull and a bout of dizziness. I tried my best to cover up this weakness, but Edward noticed. 'How bad is it?' I let the pain get to me, gasping out, 'Bad' 'Okay, just stay still. It will get better eventually.' It sounded like he was trying to convince himself. I tried to get the topic off my health. 'I could take a note.' He looked up. 'What?' 'To your family. I could take a note.' He stopped, thinking. 'You have any paper?' I looked around, and for the first time I realised my bag was missing. 'Um, where's my stuff?' 'I'll get it.'

While he was gone I took the chance to look properly at my surroundings. The soft thing I had had under my head earlier was a parka, complete with fluffy hood. The area I was in was surrounded by wooden crates, high on all sides, except for two gaps where one could enter or exit. The lighting was dim, being provided in there only by a small gas lamp on the floor. Within a few moments Edward was back, carrying with him my bag. He threw it toward me gently, it landing next to me on the floor. I reached inside, fumbling around in the bottom to try andd find my pen. After a few seconds I managed to pull out the biro and a spiral pad notebook. 'Here.' I handed them over to Edward. He took them and sat against the wall on the other side of the enclosed space. Pulling his knees up to his chest he rested the notepad on them and began to write. 'Don't you want the lamp closer?' He looked up at me, 'Yes actually.' I pushed it toward him with my foot. 'Thanks.' And then he was back to scribbling. Now that the light was on him I could see that his shivering was worse. Now it was a kind of juddering. He seemed to be in some discomfort.

After a couple of minutes he stopped writing, read over what he had written, folded the paper in half and handed it to me. 'It is for Alice. Don't show it to anyone.' He looked at me intently, I nodded and then Edward held out his hand to me and helped me up. He led me through the dark, and past the sound of voices to the left, and then before I knew it I was at the entrance to the warehouse. 'Shall I come back with a reply, if there is one?' He seemed to contemplate for a second. 'Yes, but announce yourself as you come in next time Swan.' I nodded again. I started to walk away. 'And Swan...' I looked over my shoulder. '...please don't tell my mother you found me.' And he looked at me with such vulnerability that even if that had been the plan, I could not have gone through with it. And my main thought as I walked toward the car-park was that I wouldn't be able to stay away from Edward Masen.

**Ok. Imagine that the **_**Summer Overture**_** by Clint Mansell (from '**_**Requiem for a Dream'**_**) was playing at the beginning of the chapter and the **_**Winter Overture**_** when Edward is questioning her. This will be one of the shorter chapters, this just felt like the natural time to end it. I'm not the kind of person to give a number of reviews that we must reach before the next chapter, but I would really appreciate some more. (Thank you by the way, Maliha) It's nice to have feedback.**


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